I am hurriedly wiping down the kitchen countertops when I hear a knocking at the door. My heart flutters to the rhythm of doom when I realize I am still not dressed, nor am I in any way presentable for this (important?) “meeting.”

Rather than questioning my fear-driven motives to look good for my ex, I rush to the bedroom in order to change and to allow Adrian space to greet his father at the door. 

“Daddy!” 

“Buddy!” He sounds genuinely delighted to see him. I quickly wade through hanging dresses in the closet, scanning each one, imagining how each would look to him. I have never cared much for my appearance as of late, so this insecure feeling is unfamiliar to me. I realize it’s new and exciting, but also… PATHETIC.

What am I doing? I sigh deeply. On the exhale I release the giddy feelings and inhale a new thought process, adopting the mindset of hatred and contempt once again. For I acknowledge  my feelings as being unwarranted. I mean, I should rightfully hate this man. 

I slam the closet door shut, and shift my focus toward the dresser, filled with my gym clothes, and comfy pajamas. I dress quickly and without regard, pausing only briefly to stare back at my reflection cast above the dresser in the mirror — the mirror Anthony and I had bought together five years ago. 

I see a homely woman in black bike shorts and a stretchy teal tank top. Her hair is still a wavy and somewhat frazzled mess, pulled back into a messy bun. Her eyes are puffy and tired. I hate myself, seems to be my mantra for the day, and as hard as I try to snap out of my self-loathing mood, I simply can’t.

I try to tune in to the muffled conversation on the other side of the bedroom door. I am desperate to distract my thoughts, but also hoping to judge Anthony’s intentions by the tone of his voice. Then I hear, “Where’s Mom?” followed shortly, by a gentle knocking. I feel my nerves prick. My heart plunges, but it’s a feeling all too familiar. I felt it often as a child, especially when my teachers caught me daydreaming, pulling me harshly back to reality and embarrassing me in front of the class.

As I walk slowly toward the door to open it, he has already begun to turn the lever, and as though the last few weeks have been leading up to this moment, the door parts, and he locks eyes with me dramatically. 

Oh, those eyes…

He has always been able to seduce me entirely with his gaze. It’s a soul penetrating smolder of a gaze that I have never been able to pull away from. I examine his hair, a sexy mess of curls that fall at his shoulders. Most of it is slicked back, but those few unruly strands twist perfectly down one side of his face, highlighting his clenching jaw line. His luscious lips are smirking. He knows all too well the effect that he has on me.

In this moment, I am tempted to surrender, and allow every ounce of my being to completely lose control. But instead, I muster every ounce of self-discipline, and narrow my eyes at him apprehensively.

“Laura?” I see a glint of sadness in his expression now. His amber-brown eyes have averted their gaze, and I actually feel compelled to ask him what’s wrong. 

“Anthony?”

He takes my hand, pressing radiant warmth through my veins. This frightens me, so I pull away before I can fully register what is happening, or what I suspect could be happening.

“What do you want?” The words spill out with a force I hadn’t intentionally conjured.

He looks confused. “Huh?” He runs a hand through his silky dark hair, pushing it back and out of his face. “Can we talk for a minute?”

I peer at Adrian over his right shoulder. He is staring at me with inquisitive eyes, awaiting my response. He looks just as nervous and confused as I am feeling. 

“Adrian, would you like to watch some cartoons?” I ask, in the most natural tone I can possibly come up with. He hesitates, and then nods slowly. He senses the tension; he’s old enough to understand that this is an awkward moment.

I need to get around Anthony in order to grab the remote and turn on the TV, and he knows it, but he is blocking my path, unwilling to budge in the slightest. 

“May I?” I motion toward the living room with my right hand, and he still refuses to move. His eyes are locked on mine once again, and I suddenly become very aware of my own pulse throbbing aggressively in my neck. He stares at it directly, as though psychically in tune with the internal workings of my endocrine system. 

I suddenly feel like the victim of a blood-sucking vampire. A sense of irrational fear begins to consume me, and I feel the need to shove my way around him to grab the TV remote as quickly as possible. As I break eye contact and wiggle past his warm body, he stands completely fixed and unyielding, a tiny smirk making its way to his face, once again. 

Is this a joke to him? 

His arms are pressing against the door jamb, and I feel his gaze still set upon me like a lion stalking its prey. I release an anxious breath when I realize he has finally let me pass. 

Once I have managed to thrust the remote toward the TV, my mind goes completely blank. I fumble through channels trying to find PBS Kids.

“Need some help there?” He is calm, cool, and collected, as usual. I am the stressed out heap of nerves that needs him to come to my rescue.

No I do not. 

Sense and sensibility flood my veins in an instant. I manage to calm myself, and then I find the channel, almost immediately. Adrian is already fixated by this time, and he sits on the couch, eyes glued to the screen. 

I turn to face Anthony, whose eyes are slowly scanning my body. They drift upwards with calculated intention, checking me out from my thighs to my eyes, like I’m some sort of marvel to be had. It’s obvious what he wants from me. Yet, I find it hard to believe he finds me attractive.

I narrow my eyes at him once again to let him know that I disapprove of his motives, and he clears his throat suddenly. My head shakes slowly, and his reaction is a smile ever so slight. He’s like a child hiding candy from his mother; I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or amused. He motions his arms toward the bedroom with a smirk still plastered across his face, as if I am to just follow him in there to be seduced. 

I shake my head once again. “We talk out here.”

He walks over to me, and leans his hand uncomfortably against the rim of the kitchen sink. His body positioned toward me, too close for comfort. I wait for him to say something logical, but he stares like a sad puppy, his theatrical eyes hinting that this is indeed, all a joke to him. This meeting was not over important matters at all, and I get that now. 

“What is it you want, Anthony?” I say with a bitter harshness. I am growing impatient at this point. 

He chuckles softly, and shakes his head. Now, instead of staring at me like he wants to fuck me, he is admiring me. He’s staring at me like he loves me, and I can’t believe what’s  happening. The look he is giving me — he hasn’t looked at me this way since we first met, and I am completely convinced I know the look better than anyone. 

Before I can say something, he reaches out to stroke my left arm gently with the back of his hand. It finds its way down the length of my arm, sending a tingling chill down my spine. 

I glance upwards to meet his gaze, and he stops.

“It was good seeing you today, Laura,” he says very seriously. Then just like that, he turns toward the front door and walks out without a backwards glance.

Mind games…

I am stuck with my hands pressed against the countertop, completely stunned and mesmerized by what just happened, unable to move a muscle, with Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood blaring obnoxiously in the background.